“I…I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything! Fuck! I can’t believe that woman!”
His anger crowded the room. Not that she blamed him. She wanted to comfort him, but he’d already rejected her touch.
“Should I go?” she asked.
He ran a hand over his face. “I have to leave, but you…can stay a while.”
“No, I’ll go.”
He stared at her, his eyes orbs of pain, emotional pain he didn’t want to share, but…“Mark?”
He held up his hand. “Not now, Annie.”
She left to gather her things. Within ten minutes, dressed and packed, she walked back into the living room.
He stood right where she’d left him. His face still masked with frustration. She wanted so bad to offer him something, but he didn’t want it. She could tell that in his expression. He followed her to the door. She looked back. He closed his eyes, opened them, then clenched his fist. “Sorry about this.”
“It’s not on you,” she said.
“Yes it is. Annie, I’m not sure…I don’t think…” He pressed his palm against his forehead, squeezed his temples, and mumbled, “Shit.”
“Not sure about what?”
“If she broadcasts the story…It’s against the rules. We should take a break.”
A break? What happened to you liking this?
“Yeah.” Her heart went from being a normal beating organ to a heavy, swollen, and sore piece of meat. She walked out without another word. Why did it hurt so much? Hadn’t she thought this was a mistake?
* * *
“I freaking can’t believe him!” Isabella stood in the middle of her living room, fuming, watching Annie pack her things. “Bastard!”
“It was a mistake. I knew it from the beginning.” Annie held back the knot of hurt behind her chest bone. If it climbed up her throat, she’d start crying.
But damn, that knot was large. It kept knocking against her ribs, bruising her heart.
She needed her own bed. Her own pillow. She needed privacy. She needed to stop comparing this to what happened with Ted.
“Why did he start this if he was worried about the rules?”
She’d wondered the same thing. One answer appeared obvious. Sex. Did she believe that? Her gut said it was more. Her gut said it was the baggage Fred claimed came with most cops. His murdered sister. And that had her hurting. Hurting for him.
But she couldn’t help him. He didn’t want her help.
Damn that hurt!
Annie went to Isabella’s hall closet and pulled out Pirate’s crate, which she’d stored there.
“Are you sure it’s safe to go back to your place?” Isabella asked.
“Yeah.” The truth was, she wasn’t sure of anything. But she wanted to go home. To be alone. To hug a pillow and cry. To mourn for someone else she’d lost.
Since Sam Reed had visited her at the coffee shop, it meant he and the rest of the family knew where she hung out, where she worked. If they were the ones calling in threats—and who else could it be?—they could find her. If not at home, at work. She couldn’t completely disappear. And a few days at Isabella’s wasn’t going to help.
* * *
Mark sat in the diner, a solid mass of knotted muscle, waiting to see if she’d show. He’d left a message on her phone. His gut said she’d be here.
The bell over the door chirped. He looked up. Score one for his gut.
Judith Holt walked in.
The blood running hot in his veins got hotter. He took a deep breath, told himself to hold his shit together. Stopping her from running with her stories was his goal. But damn if killing her right now wasn’t tempting.
Her gaze met his. She smiled. He didn’t smile back.
She power-strutted toward him as if his arranging this meeting was her win. If only she knew.
She eased into the chair across from him. “See, I knew you were a smart man.”
No, he’d been stupid enough to date her. “What do you want?”
She smiled seductively and rested her hand on his. “What do you think I want?” She dampened her top lip with her tongue.
“Besides sex,” he bit out. “That’s not happening.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy fucking me. But you’re screwing your witness now, right?”
Fury had his muscles cramping.
“She doesn’t seem like your type. Too girl-next-door.”
Acid from his clenched stomach rose to his throat. She was right, Annie wasn’t his type. She was too damn good for him. The old man at the coffee shop had been right.
He sucked in another breath. “Just tell me what you want to not publish those stories about me.”
“Who said I wanted anything?”
“Fine.” He started to get up.
“Slow down, cowboy.”
Mark’s shoulders tightened until he thought they’d crack, his spine locked. “This is blackmail.”
“Now that’s harsh.” She picked up Mark’s water and took a sip. “It’s news, Mark. You’re a celebrity. People are curious. I feed curious minds.”
“So you don’t want anything in exchange for not publishing them?”
Again he started to rise.
“Sit down!” she growled.
“Then what the fuck do you want? I’m not playing games.”
“What I’ve always wanted. Story leads. Exclusive leads.”
He clenched his fist. “You don’t care that putting a story out early might hurt a case? Or the victim’s families?”
“I can’t help that. It’s not like I committed the crime. I’m just reporting it.”
“If I start giving you leads, you won’t broadcast those stories? So instead of stealing from me this time, you’re blackmailing me.”
She lifted a brow. “I didn’t steal. You left the files in your car.”
This was going better than he thought.
“They have to be good leads,” she said as if she held so much damn power. “And I don’t see why we can’t…see each other occasionally.”
“What happened to your affair with Matthew Kelly, the reporter?” He was pushing it, but why not?
“It’s not an affair. We just meet up sometimes.”
Mark figured it out. “He gives you his leads for sex, doesn’t he?”
She grinned. “Personally, I think he’s got the better deal. Let’s just say he’s not as skilled as you.” She pinched her fingers together. “Little dick.”
“You’ll really fuck anyone for your job. Did you do your boss, too?”
She smirked. “I use whatever I have to be successful.”
“But you’ve already slept your way to the top at Channel Two.”
She smiled as if it was a compliment. “I have some interviews coming up. We’re talking my own New York–based TV show. Which is why I need leads.”
“You didn’t have to blackmail me, I’d have given them to you to get you out of town.”
“You’re not nice,” she said.
“I never said I was nice.”
“You’re right. You never did. You didn’t say much at all. You just fucked me. Used me for sex. And now you act as if you’re better than me. You’re more damaged than I am. You’re on this crusade of finding murderers. But you do it to make yourself feel better. Why? What are you trying to make up for? It’s about your sister, isn’t it? What did you do? Did you cause it?”
Her words echoed in his head and shot darts at his heart.
She frowned. “All you have to do is drop some leads.”
He leaned in. “Fine. Here’s a lead for you. Hell, let me show you.” He unbuttoned his shirt and exposed the wire taped to his chest that he and Connor had borrowed from the precinct.
Her eyes rounded.
“I got everything. You blackmailing me. Stealing from me. Screwing your boss. Prostituting yourself for leads.”
Her eyes tightened into angry slits. “You…wouldn’t do that.”
&nbs
p; “Wouldn’t I? And in case the media wants something to go along with the audio…” He pointed to another table, where Connor sat holding up his smartphone, then Mark leaned back. “Don’t ever fuck with me again. Don’t ever stick another mic in my face.”
He shot up, and he and Connor walked out together. “Thanks,” Mark said, unable to unclench his jaw.
“Hey, you’d do it for me.” Connor laughed. “That had to feel good.”
“Yeah.” But it really didn’t. He kept seeing Annie’s face when he’d ended things.
But damn it to hell and back. The old man had been right. Annie was a slice of heaven and he was a screwup. He recalled her questions about his father. She wanted to know his story. No, what she wanted was to fix his life. Fix him. He wasn’t fixable.
Judith was right. He was damaged. If he hadn’t been a goddamned selfish prick, his sister would be alive.
* * *
With stress riding his shoulders, and Connor riding shotgun, Mark pulled up at the precinct. The thought of finishing up the paperwork for the kid’s murder had Mark’s mood taking a deeper nosedive. He kept seeing the image of the girl half submersed in concrete. He kept remembering Bethany Talbot sobbing. He kept wishing he deserved someone like Annie.
But fuck, he needed a drink. He held on to the steering wheel and stared out. His gut knotted like a noose.
Connor got out of the car. “You coming in?”
“Yeah.” And then, “No. I’m going to try to find Officer Ruffin.” Mark reached into his shirt and removed the wire.
“Who?”
“The cop who first worked the Reed case.”
“You want company?” Connor asked.
“No.”
Mark drove to the old man’s place. Someone was in the front office. He asked for the apartment of a Mr. Ruffin, and his badge got him the number.
Five minutes later, his knuckles aching from knocking on the unanswered door, he sat his ass back in his car.
He started the engine, started driving, not sure if he was headed to the bar, or to…Annie’s. He wanted to see her. Wanted to tell her how sorry he was. Wanted to pull her against him and lose himself in the feel-good vibe her closeness brought on.
He parked his car in front of a bar. Before he got out, an older man exited the building. He couldn’t walk a straight line. When he got to some bushes, he leaned forward and puked.
Rising up, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt then just stood there—almost as if having some debate with himself. What debate was it? Change his life. Face the demon that made him drink. Keep drinking.
The man swerved around and headed back into the bar. So “keep drinking” it was.
Was that where Mark was headed? Would whiskey move from being a crutch to an addiction?
Fuck!
He left, drove to Annie’s apartment, and parked by her car. He didn’t get out. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, hoping that just being in the same block with her would calm his demons.
Ten minutes later, he and his demons drove back to the office.
Mark spent two hours finalizing his paperwork and telling himself he’d done the right thing by pushing Annie away. She deserved better than him. She also deserved the truth about Jenny. He was going to get that for her.
Stacking his papers, he looked back at Connor, who was staring at his computer. “You find something?”
“Yeah.” Connor shifted in his seat. “I’m looking at one of the motorcycle gang witnesses on the Reed case. One of them is in jail for raping a minor.”
“Shit!” Mark hadn’t gone there because the old case file hadn’t led him there.
“A couple of them live here. I think I’ll try to find them.”
“Do that.” Mark soured on the thought he’d missed something that obvious, but he’d take that chip out of his pride to solve this case.
“When are you interviewing the Reeds?” Juan asked while tapping his keyboard.
“Tuesday.” Mark answered feeling antsy to escape. “But I’m not holding my breath. The whole pack of them are strange.” He stood. “I’m heading out.”
“Wait.” Juan’s tap-tapping on the keyboard stopped. He looked up.
“What?” Mark asked.
There was the slightest pause. “Did you run a background check on Annie Lakes?”
No. He didn’t have to. “Why?”
Juan offered an apologetic shrug. “You better read this.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Annie had gone home. Remembering Mark’s warning, she double-checked the locks and took her dad’s baseball bat with her to bed. She tried to imagine using it on someone.
She couldn’t. Great. Was she such a wuss that she wouldn’t defend herself?
The memory of kicking and screaming in the dream landed with a thud on her mind. Then she wondered if Fran was even alive.
At two in the afternoon, she crawled out of bed and washed her puffy been-crying face. While she’d had her meltdown for the day, Pirate hadn’t had his midday snack. She’d left his food at Isabella’s.
“I’m going to get it,” she told the hungry cat circling her legs. In case her friend wasn’t home, she took Isabella’s key. Running her hands through her barely brushed hair, she took off. The moment she stepped outside she felt it again. As if someone was watching her. She walked fast, looking around as she went.
Her knock on her friend’s door went unanswered, so she let herself in. She went to the kitchen, found a bag, and collected Pirate’s food and kitty snacks from the pantry.
The doorbell rang and caused her to start. What if someone had followed her?
Lifting up on her tiptoes, she peered through the peephole.
A good-looking Hispanic guy filled her view. Jose? Her already beaten-up heart took a punch. Not for herself, but for Isabella.
Annie opened the door. “Sorry, Isabella isn’t here.”
Disappointment filled his expression. “Can you tell her Jose came by?”
“Sure.” Empathy tiptoed out with the word.
He studied her as if he’d heard it. “Can you tell her I still love her?”
Her heart took another blow.
“Has she told you about me?” he asked.
“She mentioned you,” Annie said in a mere whisper, her heart aching for her friend and for herself.
“In a good or a bad way?” He inched a little closer.
“Sort of in the middle.” Shut up. Shut up.
He closed his eyes a second. “Is she seeing anyone?”
Annie didn’t answer.
“Is she?” Pain laced his voice. One second passed. Two. “So she is?” Hurt deepened his tone.
“No,” Annie blurted out.
“Because of me?” he asked.
Crap. She needed to shut the door. “Look, I shouldn’t—”
“Do you know a way I could convince her to talk to me?”
“No.”
He ran a palm over his face, exhaled, and met her eyes again. “Have you ever loved someone so much that…I’m dying inside.” His eyes grew moist. His pain swelled inside her, and she thought of Mark again. But it wasn’t love she felt. It was too soon.
“Should I give up?”
Her heart dropped. When she didn’t answer, he nodded, as if reading more into her silence. He turned to go.
Words fell out of her. “Do you want to give up?”
He swung around. “Hell no. I’d do anything. Anything to get her back.”
“Then…that’s your answer. Don’t give up.”
“Does she still love me?”
Annie didn’t answer. But she knew. Her friend loved Jose as much as he loved her. Yet secrets, mistakes in the past, stood in their way. Was that why Mark ended it? Too many mistakes in his past? In hers?
“She still loves me, right? Thank you,” he said, obviously seeing the answer in her eyes.
He started to back away and Annie said, “She’s lonely. You might try…not talking to her about
your problems, but just…just, you know…flirt. Woo her.”
His brow tightened. “Woo her?”
She nodded.
A smile flashed in his eyes. “I can do that.”
Annie shut the door and leaned her head against the wood. And just like that, the feeling she’d done something good evaporated. She had no right to try to fix Isabella’s love life. Isabella was her only friend, or was. When she learned what Annie had done…
She went and collapsed on the sofa, calling herself a fool, and giving Jose time to leave before she did. After several minutes, panic still knocking against her conscience, she grabbed the cat supplies and almost got to the door, but the dang doorbell rang again.
She dropped everything back in the chair and returned to the door. Determined not to give Jose anything else.
Prone on her tiptoes, she pushed her eye to the peephole again. Her hurting heart swelled with hope, with promise. Since when had Mark become her touchstone? When did his presence instill a sense of safety, of wholeness? Remembering what she had learned about his sister brought pain to her chest. She hurt for him. She wanted to offer him the same comfort he offered her.
Maybe it was too soon to call it love, but she didn’t want to analyze it; she wanted to breathe it in, to embrace it. She couldn’t unlock the door fast enough. She wanted to hold and be held. Perhaps not love, but damn close.
The door swished open, and she faced him. Right before she fell against him, she saw his expression. The hope and happiness inside her wilted like a tired rose, once beautiful, once a sign of affection, now just a sad symbol of death. He stared at her, no warmth, no compassion. It was the same look he’d given Judith Holt.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Everything.” He shot inside. She closed the door. Emotions bubbled inside her.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’d been arrested for stalking a kid’s parents. That you got fired for making false accusations to CPS! Do you know what that looks like? They are going to think you made this shit up. They’re going to think the only reason I believed you is because I’m sleeping with you.”
Each vertebra in her spine tightened until she stood ramrod straight. “I didn’t make it up. And…it doesn’t change anything about Jenny.”
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